She moaned when his tongue flicked the taut bead of her puckered flesh and gripped his shoulders as if her knees had just given out.
From the edge of consciousness he realized how dangerous this was—they could be discovered at any moment—but that only heightened the excitement, the urgency. Later, there would be time to strip her naked, to lick and suck every juicy inch of her, but right now they were both too ravenous.
His tongue circled the hard peak of her nipple, teasing, as his hand lifted her skirts and bunched them around her hips.
She sucked in her breath at the blast of cold air, but he didn’t give her time to protest. His hand found her heat.
His cock jerked at the erotic touch, at the soft silkiness sliding under his fingertips. He stroked her, a long gentle swipe along the slit of her womanhood.
“God, you are so wet,” he groaned.
She didn’t say anything, but made a soft sound in her throat and her body quivered.
He felt the dampness spread between her legs and couldn’t wait for her to come. For her body to contract and shudder around him, for her to cry out with pleasure as she shattered.
He slid his finger inside her. A slow thrust first and then more insistently. Circling, teasing. Rubbing that sensitive little spot until her breath hitched in short, demanding gasps.
He loosed the ties of his breeches. His erection sprang free, the cold air a relief to his red-hot skin. A drop of anticipation glistened on the tip. Hooking one shapely leg over his arm, he bent his knees a little to find the angle…
His stomach muscles clenched as the heavy head of his cock nudged damp swollen flesh. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tightened, straining against the urge to drive up high inside her.
He held her there just like that—flesh to flesh—and forced her to look at him. To see him. To know that it was he who was pleasuring her. That it was he who could make her feel like this. That she belonged to him.
The mindless surrender of her body was not enough.
Her gaze met his, half-lidded, soft and hazy. Her beautiful features slack with desire. “Duncan,” she said, her voice pleading.
A pure shot of masculine satisfaction surged through him, but he needed more. He wanted all of her—body, heart, and soul. The need to hear her say it outweighed even the lust raging inside him. “Tell me you want this, Jeannie. Tell me you want me.”Only me.
Her eyes widened, she appeared startled as if out of a dream. “I—”
She hesitated.
His body chilled, sensing the words before she spoke. The bite of disappointment snapped down on his chest like a spiked steel trap.
Jeannie fought to hold on to the passionate haze that dulled her senses—the shimmery effervescent wave, the tingling, the frantic quickening of her pulse—but it slipped through her fingers like water through a sieve. The moment was gone and unwanted lucidity forged a path of cool rationality in her mind.
Her body throbbed with complaint at the sharp curtailment of pleasure. It felt as if she’d been brought to the very edge of paradise only to be shoved forcefully back to earth.
An irrational burst of anger hit her. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to force her to acknowledge what was happening? Why couldn’t they just forget about everything else and let desire take over?
She stilled. For the same reasons she couldn’t just say, “Yes, I want this. Yes, I want you,” and give over to the pleasure he wrought within her.
They’d both changed. They were no longer careless youths to be swept away by passion. She better than anyone knew the consequences of that.
She pushed herself away from him, horrified by the madness that had come over her. By what she’d nearly done. “I’m sorry. I…I can’t do this.”
His face was a mask of pained restraint, every muscle tight. His eyes pinned her, biting into her with a searing intensity. “Why?”
The dull hollowness of his voice made her chest pang. She’d hurt him.
Tears burned behind her eyes. She looked up at him, trying to find the words to explain. “I don’t know.”
“You want me.”
She didn’t bother trying to deny it. How could she when her body still wept and trembled from his touch. She’d always wanted him—only him.
“But something is holding you back,” he said. He caught her arm and held her to him, his face dangerously close. “What are you hiding from me, Jeannie? Does it have something to do with your husband?” She didn’t say anything, fear clamping around her throat. “With your son?”
